Lost Girl
by Tell Me You're Not Hydra
Summary: HYDRA jumped at the chance to take an 0-8-4 they thought lost to them out of the foster care system. Agent Avery wasn't as successful as she thought in hiding her.
1. Chapter 1

She's seven and Mrs. Davis is telling her to go to bed. The other kids have already fallen in line to shuffle off to the bunk beds but she doesn't want to go. Instead, she resolutely lingers in front of the television watching cartoons. Her foster mother, impatient and sighing, clicks the television off.

"Bed, Mary Sue. Don't make me tell you again." Her voice is sharp as she puts her hands on her hips and taps her foot. She looks up, clambers reluctantly to her feet and doesn't say a word. This one already doesn't really like her. By her guess, she'll be out of the house by the end of the next two weeks.

She's right.

* * *

It gets old really fast in the first vague memories of being shipped from one home to another just to be brought back to the orphanage in the end. By the time she's ten, it's just wave after wave of monotony and inevitability that swallows the sting of repeated rejection.

* * *

Mr. Quinn takes her in when she's almost eleven. His house is clean. It's bizarrely open and empty. Every surface seems more barren than it should be but, hell, who is she to judge how he decorates. It's not like she's ever had a home of her own to know how people do it. The kitchen is organized with the handles of expensive knives sticking out of a knife block, untouched wooden cutting boards, cool marble countertops, new appliances. In fact, as she moves from the kitchen to explore other parts of the house, everything seems so new. It's like some of these things haven't been touched at all. Nothing is worn with use or familiarity and nothing is dusty.

It was a home filled with comforts yet not lived in. Maybe he goes on a lot of business trips. That wouldn't particularly make sense for taking in some wretched foster kid. For such a big place, he'd only taken her. She bristles when he calls her Mary Sue, her fingertips halting their journey across the soft fabric of the sofa. Mutters the game she's given herself under her breath.

Maybe she's already done something to piss him off. She can't imagine what it is that she's done to offend but Mr. Quinn doesn't really seem like one to be patient with kids as it is. Honestly, why would he want one at all? She doesn't expect to stay long.

She's right again but not in the way she thinks as she walks into the next room and opens her mouth to suspiciously ask about the stranger who's suddenly in the house with them. Tall, serious, dressed in a suit. Was she meant to be expecting visitors? Unease sparks to life rapidly but is silenced by full-blown panic when a hand clamps over her mouth with a damp cloth.

* * *

"What's your name?" That this is asked while she's stonily, fearfully, tucked into the corner of the cot in a sterile white room is so unexpected that she can't help but to think of the fact that no one really bothers to pose that question to her. They always go with the name that her social worker tells them. Never do they ask if there's a name she prefers for herself.

She doesn't look up at the speaker on the wall. No one has come in to see her yet. The silence stretches on until the voice crackles to life yet again to repeat the question more firmly. It isn't Mr. Quinn. She doesn't think so, at least. When she finally finds the nerve to speak, it turns out that she's too quiet and the question is repeated yet again.

"Skye." There's no response. She isn't sure if she's hoping for one or not but she says it again just to make sure that they heard. Whomever 'they' were, they were interested enough to ask. "My name is Skye."

They don't speak to her again for a while. She's not sure how much time passes.

Twice a day, she's brought food that smells delicious.

At first she ignores it completely even as she roams around the room demanding answers for questions that she asks enough to make her throat sore. Eventually, she has no choice but to wolf it down when her body weakens and demands to be sustained. It's surprisingly good. There's a spigot in the wall where she can refill the water bottle provided for her at her leisure and the water itself is always crisp and icy. Refreshing after long hours of trying to find a way out of her cage. There's a private bathroom facility attached right to her room through a narrow door.

Even in there she feels like she being watched.

One day she wakes up and a soft maroon blanket has been left for her at the door of her room. She feels like a pet; a hound in a crate waiting to be trained. Sometimes she half expects a collar to be provided for her. When she finally gets frustrated enough to overcome the pit of dread in her stomach, she loses her temper and kicks the door until her foot aches so sharply that she hops back over to her bed on one leg. It's driving her mad to have nothing to do except stare at the ceiling.

Having been without any interaction for some thirty meals—fifteen days, it has to be. There are no night and day cycles but it has to be that amount of time if she's counted the meals correctly.—she throws her pillow across the room at the mirror that takes up most of the opposite wall. She's so annoyed that she refuses to get up to fetch it and just falls back on her bed. Somewhere between racing thoughts of if anyone even notices she gone and why she's still in this box she falls asleep.

When she awakes, there's a pile of novels just inside of the door.

"Would've liked a computer." Skye mutters. She doesn't think that's going to be an option anytime soon. That makes her feel more lost to the world than even being stuck in some hole. It feeds the ache in her heart that reminds her that no one cares. No one misses her.

* * *

The first time the door opens while she's awake, a pair of uniformed soldiers emblazoned with a bright red symbol she doesn't recognize walk in. They don't smile. They only guide her out to meet a couple of what she can only presume are doctors in white coats. They point her to the examination table. She knows it's not optional when she tries to back up and the soldiers push her forward again. The doctors smile.

She's knows its not meant for reassurance.


	2. Chapter 2

**Trigger warnings applicable for this chapter: physical abuse, emotional abuse, references to torture.**

* * *

They've taken an absurd amount of blood from her in the time that she's been with them in this little room. She remembers thinking at first that they're under the believe that she has some sort of illness. Really, she insisted for a span of a few weeks, she's not sick and she's been feeling totally fine. There's nothing wrong with her at all, she can promise that. The doctors flash her those smiles at points when they seem to be trying to placate her without saying a word but eventually stop. It turns out that they aren't big fans of even humoring her but she learns that lesson fairly quickly.

The pricking needles, poking, prodding, and probing become part of a weekly routine. Sometimes the tests are more often, sometimes they're less often. There are days where she's just left in her room without a single person speaking to her at all. She might not like these doctors who won't tell her what's going on but she likes it even less when she feels like she doesn't exist.

One day, she's given a small stack of blank notebooks and different colored pens to add to the short list of things she can occupy herself with. It becomes easier to keep track of time from that point on though, as the days tick on, she realizes that there's very little point to it. Skye doesn't even know the date, after all. No one is looking for her. What's the point of keeping track? Nevertheless, she adds tally marks diligently in the notebook she designates for time keeping.

Sometimes when clean clothes are pushed into her room in a neat stack, she pays very little attention to them but finds her voice just loud enough to say a word of thanks. She's not sure why she does it. Maybe she's hoping for a response; a connection to one of her many guards. Every time they ignore her she tucks her maroon blanket closer around her body as though it will protect her from the clear disinterest of these people in her as a person.

Except they have to have enough interest to perform all sorts of uncomfortable medical tests. They won't tell her why when she tries to demand answers from them. It seems that she's just going to be left to speculate. For this reason, it brings her some satisfaction that they don't seem to be finding whatever they're looking for in the results of their examinations. At least she's not the only one who has to go to sleep with more questions than answers.

The doctors are persistent and confident every time they test her. Skye grows less driven every day she finds herself locked away. Sometimes she thinks of one of the other boys who was in a foster home with her. Miles remains the closest thing she's had to a friend and she hasn't even seen him since they were both with the Brodys. There are nights where she dreams of her social worker coming to fetch her and leading her away by the hand while Miles just watched from the window. They'd chosen to keep him. She, Skye, wasn't a good fit. She has to rub furiously at her eyes when she thinks back to the Brodys, chiding herself harshly. At least her little box can't get any worse.

It's a few days after she turns twelve— she thinks that she's twelve from her estimations—that she sees Mr. Quinn again. He's far more friendly than she remembers him being. Not that she knows what his personality is like beyond the few moments she spent in his presence before she ended up in her room. Guards lead her out of her room as usual but instead of going to the lab they detour to another room she's never seen before. Mr. Quinn is just sitting calmly at a table and seemingly waiting for her.

This time when she comes out with a rush of incredulous and scathing questions she is given answers. When she was a newborn, he tells her, an entire village in the Hunan province of China gave their lives to protect her. Their blood, gallons and gallons of blood, had been spilled in service of her. Skye stares at him when he tells her this. Her mouth feels filled with sandpaper. It takes whole minutes for her to hoarsely insist that this just can't be true. He has to be joking. She can't handle the growing tightness in her chest, the heaviness of invisible lead on her shoulders, the burning of her widened eyes as she gawks at him.

He's not joking.

Countless people are dead and it's because of her for reasons she doesn't even understand. She's here to make sure that such huge sacrifices weren't made in vain. She's special, Mr. Quinn tells her. He doesn't know how, but she's an object of unknown origin. People died to defend her life and so finding out the truth of what she is or where she comes from is only right. It's the only justice she can offer the brave souls given in her name. Skye doesn't try to rub the wetness from her eyes and just stares down at her hands while she listens to the answers she now wishes she hadn't been given. She rubs her thumb hard against her opposite palm as she imagines the stickiness of blood coating her skin.

He says the words before she can even finish the thought herself. Maybe all of the families who had gotten rid of her had known that she was trouble from the start. She refuses to look at him. If she had been a stronger person she would have gotten to her feet to punch him. As it is, she can't even conjure the strength to push away the guards who grab her to take her back to her room.

This is just the start of hearing just how special she is on a more regular basis than she wants.

* * *

The next time she sees Mr. Quinn, he's telling her that she's going to have to concentrate to fight back. She doesn't understand what she's supposed to fight back with or against. For her age, she's smaller than she imagines other kids are. She doesn't have much muscle. It's not like she can fight much of anything.

Skye tries to ask just who she's supposed to fight back against anyway once the doctors are done putting all sorts of sensors on her.

An impassive soldier cuts the question off abruptly with an answer in the form of her fist.

* * *

"Fight back." They tell her. "Show us what you can do. Fight."

* * *

Whatever this place is it's all about her.

Mr. Quinn reminds her of that when she cries in his presence. She hates the tears.

* * *

She's fifteen when she wakes up gasping for breath. Her lungs burn, her thoughts race and sweat dampens the sheets. Whenever she closes her eyes she can remember struggling to breathe against flowing water. Maybe she's better off if she just sucks in the water. Stop struggling. Stop thrashing her arms out against bindings she knows won't let her move until the tests are done or trying to kick her feet out at soldiers just following orders. Accept the cool release of water and sink into its depths forever.

Ideas like that come and go over the years but she can never hold onto them. Nothing overrides that stifling instinct to keep breathing and carry on. Above all else, she survives. There are worse situations, she reminds herself. Here she is cared for, provided for, sheltered. In fact, the entirety of the staff is focused only on her.

"Fight back!" They shout at her. They do their best to scare her. Pain and fear are her motivators. She tries to fight back but even with the muscle she's slowly building, she has nothing on heavy iron chains and locks. Still they tell her to fight back. She isn't sure what they expect her to do but she's tries. God, she tries so hard.

* * *

The doctors all gape at her in confusion when she stands before them after having used their computer systems not just to figure out if they know anything about her but to petulantly rig them to play a cacophony of Michael Jackson songs every time they make a keystroke.

When asked how she got through the encryptions she has no answers and, when she realizes that they're not going to drag her into the room with cloth sacks and a hose she's come to fear as much as hate, just ends up responding with, "It makes sense."

This is how she ends up having a job beyond her role as a guinea pig.

* * *

Family is a word she's long dismissed along with shedding tears. Skye's twenty-two. Much too old for the many delusional hopes that she once grasped in the belief that she could build a happy, normal future.

Her normal is different than anything she could have ever expected during long nights of staring out of the windows of St. Agnes. Creating stories in her head about what families were like whenever parents passed her by with a happy kid did nothing to help her in life in the long run.

Her place has always been to be invisible, she understands that so clearly. The world of ones and zeros creates a maze to others that baffles. For her, the numbers are clear in their messages. Everything has a purpose. Every line of code has meaning. These are passages of the world she can navigate. People are proud of their networks and security but she breaks through them without being noticed at all. Money is just information recorded in bank accounts in systems that she understands better than the technical architects herself.

That's that Ian tells her, anyway. He calls her amazingly gifted.

It makes her smile. She doesn't want to but she always does.

"All of it? No one can track it down?"

Skye shoots him a look, nose scrunching in displeasure. "Do you think this is my first time doing this? Trust me, they can't track it down."

She drums her fingers against the table but he doesn't say what she expects. Silence reigns on until she restlessly prods for an answer to her unspoken question. "What's the next assignment?"

He looks pleased.

"Always so eager, aren't you?"

Admittedly, she's always buzzing for the next task right after finishing the current one. It's an endless cycle of something that she's good at. Typing away at the keyboard fills her existence with a sense of purpose. This is something beyond drifting through day to day, book to book, test to test. A computer gives her power to conquer and control; to manipulate a situation in whatever way she so desires. Even thinking about the possibilities sets her skin abuzz with anticipation.

"I like keeping busy." At least she isn't disappointed. Ian immediately pulls out a thumb stick and slides it over to her.

"I need you to get some information for me." Ian pauses, flashes his charming smile and leans forward in a conspiratorial manner. "About a S.H.I.E.L.D. asset."

* * *

A distant boom that shakes the ground rips her from sleep. Skye rubs her eyes, struggling through the sleepy haze of images from her dreams slipping through her fingers like water. It all pours out. Part of her is relieved about the loss. Dreaming of the life that could have been always ruins her day in the end when she can't stop dwelling on the what ifs.

Loud sounds penetrate her room invasively to jar her to her feet, stumbling. It's never been like this before. The reality that something big and different is happening backs her against the wall by her bed where she slides down as though it'll hide her from view. If she could turn the damn lights off she would but they aren't controlled from in here.

The door starts to swing open and allows shouting to be heard. Running footsteps, loud cracking that she realizes is gunfire, and even another roar that makes her think that someone somewhere close is setting off an explosive. The door slams shut again. She's alone.

She lunges to grab her laptop now that the shock has been broken and scrambles to access the facility's surveillance system. All of the cameras show her the same thing. Static. Just static. Shit. Her shaking fingers press to her mouth. Without those cameras, she's blind to what's happening. There's nothing she can do and no way for her to leave the room on her own since it has to be opened from the outside.

They just _had_ to remove the electronic locking systems for manual ones, didn't they?

Skye isn't sure how long she sits there in silence. She's so preoccupied with listening that time seems endless and when the sounds begin to become less frequent is when she realizes that her muscles have begun to cramp with the rigidity of her body.

Fear makes her want to disappear into the wall but there's nowhere to hide here. As much as the soldiers have bothered to teach her basic self-defense, she's not bulletproof. Ian hasn't come for her. Is he dead? The thought isn't entirely unwelcome but is quickly washed away by guilt that leaves a bad taste in her mouth.

When the door suddenly swings open and guns aim at her face, all Skye can think to do is squeeze back against the wall more with her hands splayed out in the air before her.


	3. Chapter 3

**"**Sir?" Skye can hear the soft accented voice speaking but doesn't look up towards its source. It's as though the woman can barely refrain from asking an absolute onslaught of questions. There's a sort of curiosity to her voice that makes it clear that one she really gets started the floodgates aren't going to close again.. "It's just that—Are you quite certain that she'll speak at all? She hasn't even looked at us since boarding. I could do some examinations to assess her physical condition but considering how getting close to her went for Ward someone would need to restrain her."

She feels an all too rare tugging at the corner of her mouth as she thinks about how she had slammed her fist into the man's face when he made to reach for her so he could drag her from her room. Maddeningly, she doesn't truly recall much after the satisfying smack of her knuckles against skin. A gun had turned on her and then the next thing she remembers is waking up on a cot that isn't her own. She's just in this room on she sort of vehicle. They've taken her laptop somewhere and that feels like the biggest violation of her limited autonomy by these strangers so far even considering that they shot her with something.

"I don't think that's necessary. She'll talk. Eventually." He sounds far too confident even muffled through the door. She doesn't like it. Bristling, she leans down to rest her chin on her folded arms. He doesn't know anything about her. She has no reason to talk to people who shot her and are holding her captive in a room that seems even more secure than her real one. She finds her fingers curling against the material of the mattress and misses the familiarity of a soft blanket bunching in her hands. Nothing here is from her room.

Or from her facility if the sounds of a small group of people outside of the door are any indication. Where's Ian? Why hadn't he come directly for her to pull her out of the line of fire when these people burst in to wreak havoc upon the place? Why would strangers have forced their way into the place after all of this time leaving it undisturbed. What could have been so important to warrant a full-on assault of the closest place she'd ever had to a home? Skye breathes out hard against the hair falling in front of her eyes.

"Sir, we still need to figure out what they've done with the 0-8-4. The entire compound was swept and we didn't find a single thing out of place. Not promising." A male voice. She thinks its the one she punched in the face. Ward is his name. Weird name as far as she was concerned but neither his name nor voice are what interests her. The most intriguing thing about what he says in the mention of an 0-8-4. Ian has never mentioned that directly to her face but her files tell a different story. She remembers from the handful of times she's read them that they list 'S.H.I.E.L.D. classified 0-8-4' in the notes. It never has any explanation to tell her what that means but she's smart enough to know it's definitely important.

She doesn't hear the rest of the conversation as the voices suddenly die away. She's alone again but it's almost bitterly comforting to be left to solitude and silence. This is familiar territory to which she can cling; an environment in which she can properly think about how to get away. Just because they've not yet laid a hand on her doesn't mean that it'll continue this way.

Hours are spent just staying prone on the mattress of the strange cot though she does eventually start tracing over the edges of the patterned wall. Some sort of heavy and intimidating metal, she thinks. There's no certainty but with how the vehicle moves she's mostly certain that wherever she's being held is very much not on the solid earth. In fact, she's almost positive that she's on a plane from the seat folded up against the opposite wall. It has a seat belt and everything. What kind of plane, considering the size of the room she's in, is beyond her.

Skye almost thinks that these people are content to leave her alone until the door slides open to tell her otherwise. Great. She makes no move to get up from the bed, deciding instead to stare resolutely at the hexagons covering the ceiling. The woman who comes in isn't alone but Skye can see that only she steps forward hesitantly.

"I, ah, hello."

Skye doesn't acknowledge her.

"Yes, well, I've just come to take a few samples and assess your overall health now that you're awake. If that's okay with you, of course. I don't mean to say that I'm just going to stab you with needles without your consent. Consent is very, very important for, well, everyone, really but I particularly do not want to perform any sort of procedure without it being okay with you." This one talks quite a lot. Skye has no intention of breaking her focus from the ceiling. She can see the woman glancing back at her companion who stands by the closed door. Tense silence falls over the lot of them but is broken far too when the woman tentatively asks, "May I conduct a few—"

A scientist wanting to do tests. She sits up, swings her legs over the side of her bed and finally meets eyes with the stranger wanting to examine her. This is something she has experience with. Better than trying to hold a conversation. Skye grips the bottom of her sleeve and jerks it up roughly. The woman looks uncomfortable and fidgets in place.

"If you could please just take off—Oh, well, there you go. Thank you." Skye rolls her eyes and tosses her shirt next to her. "Now—oh…"

The woman catches sight of old scars and marks of tests performed by Ian's scientists and soldiers. She tries not to look startled but Skye can see right through that faltering smile she tries to force back onto her lips.

Guess she's not so talkative now.

* * *

They finally give her her laptop back and she has a strong suspicion that it's because of the scars on her body. From the look on the scientist's face the next time she comes in, she knows that they think she's some sort of prisoner that they rescued.

Whatever helps them sleep better.

* * *

They take away her laptop ten minutes later when she walks out of the room after hacking their systems.

She's confirmed beyond any shadow of a doubt that she's on a plane. A very high-tech plane.

* * *

A man with an enigmatic smile asks her how she managed to so quickly bypass their systems. She shrugs. Agent Phil Coulson, he says his name is. She doesn't give him hers. Not yet.

"What can I say? I'm good at what I do." It's the first time she speaks to any of them. She knows that she shouldn't have but she can't quite help herself. The opportunity to seize validation in her skills is too much to ignore.

Twisting her fingers together, she mostly listens while he talks. S.H.I.E.L.D. defenses of their systems, how they tracked down the facility, Ian Quinn—her fidgeting promptly stops when he talks about how Ian's in the wind—and a whole host of other information that she files away because while it doesn't matter to her at the moment it could come in handy in the future.

He asks about her but she doesn't answer right away. What is there to tell? He asks again. Maybe if she answers then he'll go away and leave her alone.

"I'm twenty-two." Skye runs her fingers through her hair restlessly. She presses her lips together in a thin displeased line when she regards him. "I've been with Ian since I was eleven… Ten, I guess, but I was pretty much eleven. Doesn't matter. I had a bed, food, water…It was my home until all of you stormed the place with your guns."

If he's surprised by how she talks about it it doesn't show. Coulson flips open the file in front of him; he peruses it in a way she's sure is unnecessary because he probably knows everything in there already. He raises an eyebrow. "Quinn had an entire staff of a dozen scientists devoted just to you for… Just no reason?"

"He had questions." Skye does nothing but to make Coulson more curious.

"Quinn's devoted countless resources to housing and studying a woman for a decade just because?" He doesn't sound convinced. Doesn't look it either. She shifts uncomfortably and looks away.

"He said I was special. I mean, I'm good with computers. Seriously, I'm like scary good with computers. But he thought that I might be able to do… I don't know, something." Maybe if she'd been able to answer just what he wanted from her then things might've been different over the years. But he never explicitly told her. No one did. They demanded that she fight back but she never knew how. She still doesn't know.

"And…?"

Of course he asks. That isn't enough. It's not enough for all of that just for some invisible girl who can't do anything other than crack into systems. Skye glances back up at him.

"And I'm an 0-8-4." She slumps back in her seat. "Whatever that means."

* * *

Agents come to get her and she's sure that she's never going to see the light of day after this from how they look at her. She drags her feet to extend her time outdoors. She gazes up at the drifting grey clouds, inhales the scent of wet grass and rain, even smiles against the droplets of water spattering down against her face. It's fresh air. She fills her lungs and feels something like a laugh bubbling up from her chest.

The sheer giddiness of it all makes her bounce on the balls of her feet. She doesn't even care when the agents look at her oddly. They're definitely not amused. Regardless, she holds out her hands, spreads her fingers and relishes the cascading rain. A burst of wind sweeps across her face. She finally bursts out in laughter through the wet hair sticking to her face. Her head tilts back and she just breathes the moment in with the hope that it'll drag on forever.

The agents seem to have a different idea. They pull her forward in a dance she knows very well. She knows better than to resist for much longer. From one room to a room on a plane to some room they'd undoubtedly store her in while conducting their own tests. Skye closes her eyes and hopes that she'll remember this moment outside for a long time before it fades away to permanent concrete and syringes.

These doors close behind her with a hiss that makes her flinch.

What she isn't expecting is to be released back aboard the plane with Agent Coulson hours later with the title of 'Consultant.' She's no clue why Coulson's decided to take an interest in her. She's not even sure if he's told his superiors that she's an 0-8-4 if they're so easily relinquishing control of 's nothing to say that she can't just turn tail, run down the ramp and see how far she can get before they react to chase her down. Who knows, maybe she can actually get somewhere on her own. It's possible, right? Looking over her shoulder, Skye considers it as a viable option. Just how much would they actually care about some useless girl to look after anyway.

Until Coulson walks by her and says the thought as it comes to her mind.

"Where else do you have to go?"


	4. Chapter 4

**Thank you so much to everyone following, favoriting, and reviewing. It's super encouraging and I love reading your comments!**

* * *

When she first comes on the plane they tell her to find a place to put her stuff. Not like she has much. Naturally, she's chosen to return to the room she's most familiar with. It's only later when she presumes they've been looking for her that they discover she set up in what had been her holding cell. For whatever reason, this seems to come as a surprise but no one comments on it at first. They leave her to her own devices.

She's propped her laptop open on her crossed legs so she can press her back against the wall while she skates her fingers over the keyboard smoothly during her explorations of back channels she knows aren't meant to be wandered in. To anyone else they might be a wall but for her they're just corridors and doors. Everything opens to her command and closes with a touch of her fingertips. It's an entire interconnected universe founded on patterns that can be manipulated in whatever way pleases her.

It gives her a fleeting thrill every time she snakes through a hole in a network, pries open a door people believe is locked or flat out creates her own entrance into a realm of information that is deemed sensitive, private or classified. She's yet to run into anything that can truly be kept out of her reach for very long. As much as she is able to access, she never does much of anything beyond reading files. No money is transferred, no files are posted to the internet, nothing is changed at all once she's done acquiring information. Everything is left perfectly intact because she doesn't know what to do.

Eventually, because she knows it's a miracle she's been left alone for this long, the door opens and the man whom she had punched peers in at her without expression. He seems to study her. She doesn't bother looking over at him as she scrolls down through Reddit while Tumblr refreshes itself automatically in a separate browser window. Every muscle tightens when he takes a step into the room. Skye has to wonder if he's brought himself here to start up testing where Ian's employees left off. Perhaps he wants to see if he can be the one to make her fight back in some special way somehow.

"What do you need?" She wants him to get to the point. Whatever he's come to do or ask, she wants him to just get it over with already.

"Nothing." There's nothing telling in his voice. It's laughable. People don't just drop by for nothing.

"Then what?"

"There's a empty bunk next to Fitz's." He's still studying her. She doesn't like it.

"What of it?"

"You should move there. We need this room on standby. It's not a living area." He pauses. She doesn't respond. "It'd probably give you a lot more freedom and feel less like a prison cell if you're out there with everyone else."

Freedom. Skye curls her lip disdainfully. Her purpose in life has been stripped away with Ian's disappearance. Here, on this plane, she just happens to exist with a singular talent. No freedom in the world will make up the her losses brought on by these people. Something else bothers her about the word but she pushes it away quickly in an attempt to soothe the growing uncertainty in the pit of her stomach.

"You can come and go as you please. You don't have to stay in your bunk, you know." He says this like it'll make a difference.

Skye shakes her head. She's not sure if it's in rejection to the assertion or just because she can't fathom such a thing anymore. She remembers trying to run away from a few foster families. She remembers leaving her shared rooms to sneak things from the kitchen whenever she wanted. Even when they tried to tell her that things would be different and work out, she remembers stealing nonperishables to hide in her bag for when the end would inevitably come. With Ian, it had never been a problem. Perhaps she was a little more restricted than most kids but she was well provided for and she provided services in return. The rest of the time was spent locked in a room where she knew there were very simple rules that she wouldn't have been able to break even if she wanted to. The freedom to come and go as she pleases has never worked out for her.

Ian's staff weren't explicit about what they'd wanted from her but she'd known enough to know that whatever they were looking for she was failing at miserably. She could still try to search herself for some unknown strength or power during their tests. They told her to fight back and she tried regardless of failure. Now she's back to square one. Except these people are even more difficult to understand than her foster families. She doesn't know what they want from her beyond her hacking abilities. If they don't want her locked in the room to be monitored 24/7 then what _do_ they want?

She almost asks the question. Skye has to clear her throat roughly, focusing her gaze absently on her dimming computer screen. No. It's a bad idea. If he wants her to move then she'd do well to just move. Shrugging, Skye snaps her laptop shut and shoves it into the clean black backpack that was provided for her upon her arrival on the plane.

* * *

Fitz is a scientist.

He's a slight young man with curly hair and a reserved disposition. She's not sure if he's just like that around her or if that's just how he is in general. The first time she hesitantly ventures out of her bunk to wander to the kitchen, she can feels eyes following her.

He studies her from afar but keeps interactions to a minimum. He, like other scientists, seems to see the value in simply observing her when she's left to her own devices. It makes her wonder if Ian's scientists ever deduced something important simply by standing outside of the window to her room and watching. Surely they must've seen something that made her worth keeping around.

A little part of her insists that even if there's nothing interesting about her, Ian had to care to keep her around. He cared and that's why he kept her when no one else spared a second thought for her existence. He just had his own reasons for needing to leave her behind. Everything must've happened so fast. She thinks about so many scenarios that could've happened more often than she thinks she'll ever admit out loud. At least he's not dead.

She can't stop herself hesitating any time she sets foot in the kitchen. Everything, she's told, is available to everyone on the plane. There are no rules about what she should and shouldn't eat. Operating outside the realm of restriction is problematic. The most she can bring herself to take without feeling that she's treading on thin ice is a slice of bread or piece of cheese. It seems that this is strange enough behavior to cause Fitz to watch her even more closely when he observes it.

Fitz gets flustered whenever she catches him staring. She'll look up, meet his eyes, and arch a brow at him questioningly. Sometimes she'll even find herself wanting to smile just to let him know that he's quite terrible at being covert. He's prone to fumbling with whatever he's holding before muttering some excuse that she doesn't listen to whenever this happens.

He's not the only one who's curious. She's certainly done her homework on him by ghosting through the S.H.I.E.L.D. personnel files. They're so easily so accessible that she thinks that they aren't event trying to be hidden from her at all. It begs the question that maybe she should just ask for the files upfront but she quickly shoots that idea down. It would be far too easy to just ask and receive when she can take them whenever she pleases.

It comes as a surprise that Fitz turns out to be a legitimate, full-fledged rocket scientist. She finds her eyes flickering to his date of birth, brow furrowed, He's so young. A little older than she is but young nonetheless. It's quite the impressive accomplishment to have at his age, she thinks.

"Can I help you?" Skye addresses him for the first time when she catches him staring.

As expected, he slips up as he spreads jam on his toast and prods himself in the hand with the blunt tip of the knife. Clearing his throat, he pushes the knife away from himself so that it accidentally clatters loudly into the sink and shrugs. "You? Help—Nah, no. Certainly not. No help needed. I'm quite alright."

He settles for giving her a curt nod and briskly walking away. He has to return a few seconds later, muttering under his breath, to retrieve his forgotten toast.

* * *

Where there is Fitz, she learns, there's generally also Simmons. On occasion she hears other members of this ragtag team simply refer to the pair of them as one entity: Fitzsimmons. It becomes clear just why when she looks at their shared history together. From the prestigious S.H.I.E.L.D. Academy to the Sci Ops Division to Coulson's crew of misfits, they've been inseparable for years now.

Jemma Simmons is intelligent; beyond intelligent. It seems only fitting that she's best friends with a brainiac like Fitz. Boasting an IQ slightly higher than her partner's and PhDs in fields that Skye's never heard of before, she's one hell of an asset to have on this sort of team. Skye flicks through her file on a tablet silently, eyes drifting up to scrutinize her when she passes by the door of her bunk.

For all purposes that she can she, Skye can't quite understand why S.H.I.E.L.D. would allow one of their engineers to just waltz out into field work like this, never mind an engineer _and_ a reputable biochemist. They're both young and full of ingenuity and promise. Putting unqualified scientists into the line of fire hardly seems like the safest way to utilize their talents. Why not keep them in the lab where they would work the best?

She can't help but to think that Ian would have handled them as part of his facility very differently. Most assuredly, they would not have been sent out on some plane for unknown missions that might end with them being injured, killed or captured by hostile forces. He would have made sure they were safely tucked away to do their work. It seems like it would make them far more productive than having them under potential threat at any given moment.

Then again, she shrugs her shoulders back and ignores the resulting dull ache of her muscles, Fitz and Simmons have managed to accomplish enough if their reports are anything to go by. A gun called an Icer that is capable of major nonlethal stopping power is something to be proud of. There are other lists of projects they've managed to complete or improve upon even during their time on the plane. She understands parts of the reports but most of them are so deeply imbedded in science that they don't mean much to her.

Simmons is unwaveringly kind. She visits her the most of anyone though it's mostly for medical purposes. She insists upon checking up on old scars, scanning for broken bones, and tentatively applying salves for wounds resulted from testing that are still healing. Skye has a bad habit of picking at her scabs for which Simmons gently reprimands her by reeling off possible bacterial infections and the scars that'll form as a result of not leaving them to just heal. Skye isn't one for holding a conversation but Simmons continues talking to fill the silence all the same.

She asks questions for which Skye has no answers. What's her favorite television show? Does she enjoy television? What sort of music does she like? What does she like to do for fun? What does she like to do to relax? Given that her exposure to some of these things has been limited over the years and that most of her time in her room was spent in silence means that her preferences are fairly undeveloped. She's not sure if there's a right answer or wrong answer. So she just shrugs her shoulders and grunts noncommittally. It doesn't seem to deter Simmons in the slightest though she does deflate slightly. Still, she smiles nonetheless.

"Oh, hello, Skye." Simmons curls her lips in that familiar bright smile when she sees Skye walk into the living area. She holds something out abruptly. Skye blinks, taken aback. "Would you like some chocolate? I really have had more than enough."

Skye considers the offer momentarily but shakes her head to decline the offer. It's not the last time Simmons tries to share with her or the last time she turns her down.

* * *

One night, Coulson drifts by the bunk to tell her about a mission briefing. She knows she's expected to show up. She dawdles only for a moment until she sighs, snaps her laptop shut and moves to join everyone in the briefing room. The reactions she receives upon entering are varied but expected. May is solidly neutral, Coulson just flashes that mysterious smile that fails to meet his eyes, Ward gives her a displeased once-over, Fitz looks at her like a curious project, and Simmons smiles. Just smiles.

It's bright and genuine and she waves her fingers in greeting.

Skye averts her eyes.

She keeps herself off to the side but listens intently. It's all information that means little to her. Names, dates, projects, paper trails. She looks at it all on her tablet. Nothing about the words she's reading looks the slightest bit interesting until she spots a name that looks familiar. She's seen the name of the victim in this explosion before. Debbie Luciano has been listed in one of Ian's projects before. She can't quite place it because she never took it upon herself to pry into any of his projects beyond the reports concerning findings about her.

In fact, Skye studies the video of the woman carefully. Rewinds, replays, repeats the process a couple of time. She definitely knows this face. This is one of Ian's scientists. Skye has in fact met her before briefly. Skye remembers more the longer she thinks about it. Debbie was present during one of her examinations. Pacing the room, jotting down notes and progress—or lack thereof—and just watching while the soldiers demanded some show of power from her through their fists and other various instruments.

She'd had no interest in paying any attention to Skye when the test was over. Skye remembers gasping against pain and watching Debbie just leave the room without a second glance her way as the soldiers unstrapped her restraints. The sound of Coulson's voice handing out instructions to each member of their small team jerks her from her thoughts.

"Everyone understand?" He looks at her, meets her eyes.

There are various murmurs of agreement. Skye gazes back at him. He'd want to know about Ian's connection to all of this. The very thought of handing over information that might threaten Ian makes her guts wrench painfully. Instead of speaking, she just nods.

* * *

Skye never sets eyes on Debbie in person. Not on this mission, anyway. She's a tagalong for the most part. Her hacking skills fail to come into play beyond digitally mining information about utilities of the building that exploded, permits granted, personnel identified from surveillance video recovered by Fitzsimmons and other such paper trails. None of it even requires her to leave the plane but she finds that Coulson insists on her coming out with the rest of them regardless of that fact.

Fitz more or less keeps his distance save for when Simmons insists on trying to interact with her. There comes a point with May where Simmons eagerly comes over to explain the purpose of their hovering miniature robots while they glide around the room. She wants to explain all of their equipment and tell Skye how she can tell them each apart when May moves away to pick her way through the wreckage. Simmons turns her tablet around to show Skye the various bits of information being retrieved by the drones. Skye admittedly doesn't understand a lot of it but that doesn't stop Simmons from trying to break it down for her.

The pair of geniuses analyze and process all of their data to recreate some of the events though the audio is lacking with no real way to fix it since they don't have a secondary source. It doesn't matter in the long run.

In the end, as she watches everyone work and do their part, she doesn't understand why Coulson seems to think she's a valuable part of the team. She understands even less why Coulson pulls her into interactions with everyone else when she's not even certain that they want her here to begin with. The weight of being valueless—lost and purposeless—within a team built of individuals with all sorts of gifts wraps around her like a hand cruelly squeezing her throat. If she's not contributing then what is her point?

She can't do to things that Fitz and Simmons can. She can't fight or pilot like May, couldn't have shot so true like Ward did with one Mike Peterson before he detonated, couldn't have talked Mike down from his brutal rage like Coulson did. Skye is dead weight in a world that demands talent and progress. The knowledge leaves her fidgeting restlessly when they're back on the Bus later. She stares at her laptop vacantly for hours upon hours even through the interruptions of Simmons stopping by for a routine medical check-up and Fitz tensely attempting some semblance of a conversation while hovering at her shoulder.

* * *

By the next evening, Skye fully understands that she's not going to be left alone. Coulson is trying to properly socialize her into the team. Her days of being left to solitude for days on end appear to be over. If she doesn't make an effort it stands to reason that, like every foster family before Ian, she'll be sent away. Probably into S.H.I.E.L.D.'s custody in a dark basement somewhere.

She breathes in deeply and gazes out of the window at silky grey clouds flowing by. In her gut, she knows it's not an option to have these views stripped away from her. Not just yet. She wouldn't be able to handle it to have the world resting at her fingertips only to give it up because she couldn't put on a fake smile and play nice.

It's how she ends up standing just inside the doorway to the cockpit. Trailing her fingernails over the leather back of the co-pilot's seat, she finds that her voice hitches in her throat when she first tries to ask the question. It takes a moment of steadying effort to slowly fill her lungs with cool air so that she can form the words she needs to.

"I—Do you mind…?" Her voice is laced with more genuine uncertainty than she expects it to be.

Melinda May doesn't look back at her; instead just continues carrying on with her duties. Skye pauses, fingers digging into the leather. She waits a beat and then quietly slides into the seat. It's quiet and calm. May doesn't try to fill the silence with conversation she doesn't now how to respond to. She just does her work. Skye is allowed to just look out the window.

Skye doesn't think she's ever seen anything so beautiful.


	5. Chapter 5

Someone's screaming deafeningly. That someone is her. With the realization comes the abrupt end of the sound that makes her ears ring horribly but leaves her throat raw. It happens inevitably sooner or later. Always. This is just the first time it's happened on the Bus. Her eyes are squeezed shut tightly, her fists balled in the fabric of her dampened comforter. Every heavy breath irritates her sore throat and rips through her lungs raggedly.

These nights are always cited as 'distressed episodes' but never addressed beyond how they could affect testing the next day. She knows how to deal with it on her own so that no one else is disturbed. Skye just has to bite the inside of her cheek to use the pain to distract herself from the barrages of images she would rather not think about. The sensation of drowning, for instance. Having her head underwater. Struggling to gasp for precious oxygen only to inhale mouthful upon mouthful of water.

She bites harder and tries to focus on the memory of the clear night sky from their perch in the heavens 30,000 feet above the earth. They are collectively a high flying bird just waiting to be called down to perform a duty. Work will come but until then they soar. She soars. She gazes out from the cockpit with May whenever she is allowed to. Thus far, this has been whenever she ventures up there. May has yet to turn her away. Though she has no doubt the day will come at some point, she'll take what she can get in the mean time and treasure her time staring out at the endless oceans of clouds.

Shuffling outside of her bunk is enough cause for her to push herself up onto her elbows with her heart in her throat. There are low murmurs and then she hears clearly enough, "Well, go on, Fitz. We can't wait here all day, can we?"

There's more shuffling finally a gentle rap on the door of her bunk. She considers not answering for the sake of her dignity because it's clear that they're awake because of her. It begs the question if every single person on the plane is now awake because of her stupid dreams. Heat rushes unpleasantly to her cheeks as she forces out a barely audible, "Come in."

The door slowly is pushed open to reveal Fitzsimmons standing just outside. She's scanning their faces for any signs of possible anger when Fitz awkwardly steps forward, clears his throat and extends a gently steaming mug of tea to her. It's so unexpected that Skye finds herself frozen in place. Irritation at being woken up in the middle of the night is the reaction she's expecting and this doesn't go along with that. Her eyes flit between their faces searchingly. Uncertainly furrowing her brow, it takes her a full minute of silence before she decides to actually accept the simple drink offered to her.

Simmons flashes a soft smile that looks like it's barely being restrained from a full-blown grin. Silly for her to be happy over something so small. Skye cradles the warm mug in her hands, bringing it close to her chest like the warmth will seep through her skin and ease her tense muscles. Fitz and Simmons hover in her doorway. They're all left in a very strange silence that Skye decides to distract herself from by sipping the tea. This is arguably new territory for all three of them. Skye doesn't typically allow prolonged interactions unless it's totally unavoidable. It just so happens that Fitzsimmons have decided to make an appearance during a time that Skye can't find it in herself to want to be alone. Not right away.

"…Well. Best be getting back to bed. It's not exactly ideal to function on such little sleep. Isn't that right, Simmons?" Fitz uneasily speaks to the both of them, hands on his hips rigidly. It's clear that he's making an effort to actually try to speak with her. Skye's not sure what to think of that. He nods, lips pressed together, and then turns to retreat back to his bunk. Simmons lingers. Skye's not sure what she's hoping for but keeps her eyes low as to not offend by staring too much. She expects there to be innumerable questions about what woke her so violently but they don't come.

"Yes, quite right. Wouldn't want to impair our attention spans and memory for whatever problem may arise tomorrow." Simmons speaks easily. Her voice is a little bit higher than usual but Skye can chalk it up to simple nerves. She knows that she's not the easiest person to interact with. That seems abundantly clear to everyone aboard the plane. "If you need… Not that that you can't care for yourself perfectly well, of course, but should you need any, uh… or… perhaps if you would like company of some sort—"

"Thank you, Simmons." Skye only knows that Simmons hears her by the way her voice immediately trails off. It's neither an acceptance or denial of her offer to come spend time together because Skye can't find the energy to commit to either option at the moment considering that the ghosts in her nightmares are still ricocheting around in her head. Her words hang between them in the air.

"Yes, of course. Goodnight, Skye." Simmons murmurs in a tone somewhere between relief and pleasure. She closes the bunk door behind her when she leaves.

Skye closes her eyes to relish the gentle warmth that comes with each swallow. The ache in her throat is subdued by the drink. Maybe she should try drinking tea more often. It occurs to her as she draws back to gaze down at the liquid, that she hasn't actually had tea since before her placement with Ian. Even then she's never really consumed it on a regular basis. She sets the mug down on her bedside table.

Maybe she should have it more often.

* * *

"You like board games?"

Skye looks up from the screen of her tablet at the unexpected question, finger paused midway through swiping from one news story to the next. Grant Ward, all brawn and tactical intelligence, is quite possibly the last person she expects a question like this from. She frowns in confusion and has to take a glance around just to make sure he's addressing her and not Fitz or Simmons or, hell, even Coulson.

Nope, she's the only one out here at the moment. She thinks that Fitz and Simmons are down in the lab analyzing something. It always seems that they're testing new gadgets and compounds or otherwise doing something scientific. She hears them discussing their experiments all of the time.

Ward usually spends his time reading, working out, or doing whatever necessary paperwork comes along with the aftermath of their missions. She hasn't had to do much of that. No incident reports or general recordings of her activities have been necessary. Coulson tells her to enjoy it while it lasts because there will eventually come a time when she'll be faced with having to recount her every step for one reason or another. It's not something that she looks forward to.

It's only in the last few days that Ward has even taken to greeting her when they happen to pass each other as they go to different parts of the plane. Maybe he's realized that she doesn't plane on going anywhere anytime soon or maybe Coulson has prodded him to interact more but either way she's not sure what to make of his current efforts. His expression is unreadable and neutral.

She runs her fingers through her hair. With each passing moment she knows that he's losing patience. For a simple question it's probably given her more pause than it would any normal person. If Coulson wants the crew to make an effort with her than she should return the favor. Better to try to stay on their good sides, right? Her problem in foster care was always failing to do so.

"Yeah. Yeah, sure." She tries something new. She tries on a small smile. He doesn't return it but jerks his head towards a booth against the window. It's been a very long time since she's played any type of board game at all. While she's mastered solitaire over the years any group sort of game is sort of lost on her. "Board games are great."

"Want to play Battleship?" He raises an eyebrow expectantly.

Skye nods.

At least it's a game that she's played a couple of times in her life. She remembers being sat down across from Miles and whooping in triumph whenever she made him say out loud that she'd sunk his battleship. He'd be all gangly limbs and shaggy hair and reluctant grins when she paraded her victory over him. And she would always win. It was shooting in the dark, yes, but she always managed to win. Maybe she's just better at random stabs in the dark than he was.

Starting off it's a fairly quiet game but by the end of the second match she's genuinely laughed more than she can remember doing in a very long time. Skye manages to beat Ward in two out of three games. She's not convinced that her victories are legitimate from the way Ward is almost playfully smiling but she finds that she doesn't care. It's just fun.

A couple of days later, he asks again. This time he wins but Skye doesn't even mind.

* * *

"Skye, hey, there you are. Simmons was wondering—"

"_We_ were hoping you would perhaps have an interest in joining us all to watch a movie tonight. Well, no, not a movie. A television show that's really quite brilliant and I'm certain that it could be of interest to—" Simmons looks so earnest that Skye's almost sorry to cut her off. It seems like she does this to the both of them a lot. Simmons in particular but, then again, Simmons is the one who speaks to her more in those long, fast-paced rambling sentences that often detour into small tangents. Fitz, on the other hand, stays relatively on point when talking to her about whatever's on his mind.

"What show?" Skye asks curiously. Simmons, probably pleased that she hasn't just turned them away in favor of being alone, brightens immediately at the question.

"Doctor Who!"

Skye's at a loss now. This happens fairly often with Fitzsimmons but at least there's generally the excuse that she doesn't have so much as a fraction of the knowledge that they have so she can't really be expected to keep up with their science. Right now, she's just being tossed into the dark because of a significant lack of popular culture knowledge. To be fair, as it turns out, Doctor Who is a British show and when she was a kid she certainly didn't have any knowledge of a lot of overseas television.

"Come watch with us? I'm confident that you'll like it if you just give it a chance. Just one episode and if you don't find it to your tastes then you are more than welcome to return to doing something that you do enjoy. Please?" Simmons is downright excitable about the prospect of Skye joining them. Fitz is rolling his eyes though he can't keep the smile off of his lips at her childish enthusiasm about a show that clearly holds a special place in her heart.

"Why not?" Skye agrees. Simmons is clearly delighted.

Honestly, she expects it to be something dumb and scientific to the point that she can't hope to understand it. What she gets instead is a world that unfolds more with every passing moment and captures her imagination. There is a delicious question of 'what if' that comes to mind the more that she learns of the Doctor and the TARDIS. Time and Relative Dimension In Space. It was a mind-blowing blue box that could be anywhere and anytime that the Doctor wanted at just the touch of a few levers and buttons.

Beyond the fantastical story lines and characters that she finds herself slowly becoming invested in as she sticks around for episode after episode, she's even more starstruck by the realms of sheer possibility that are available to her in this series. This is what keep her the most intrigued by the whole premise of the show. This endless intrigue and boundless ability to travel with whomever to wherever at whatever moment the desire strikes jars a chord that keeps her rooted in her seat. Where there is Rose Tyler she imagines herself. He's the Doctor. He swoops in whenever he pleases and picks up anyone who catches his fancy to travel with him. She has one narrow life only to be plucked from her world to go to so many others.

Skye's so entranced by the freedom and life of the show that it's only at the end of the episode that she looks around and realizes that Fitz is no longer sitting between herself and Simmons. There's about a foot of space between them. She wonders if this is the sort of thing that Ward would enjoy watching too. She hasn't spent a lot of time with everyone as a group. There's been plenty of one-on-one time with May and even Ward recently with their settled routine of board games. Simmons, on the other hand, isn't someone she's been alone with before.

They're such different people. Simmons is wildly intellectual, more confident than Skye thinks she's been since she was a kid. She's a scientist with multiple PhDs while Skye's just a hacker who happens to have a talent for computers. It's nothing that she's earned. It just happens to come naturally. Simmons, on the other hand, has worked for all of her accomplishments. She's earned her place in the world and the respect of others. Maybe she likes board games too. Honestly, she would ask if she didn't feel that she would sound like a moron.

"Skye?" Simmons' voice interrupts her curious musings. "Is everything alright?"

Skye smiles, shrugs and covers her thoughts with, "Yeah, just wondering if the TARDIS has good wifi."

Of course this prompts an in-depth explanation about the capabilities of the TARDIS in great detail. Skye makes a mental note, smiling as Simmons smoothly gestures in time with her words, that this isn't so bad. Maybe she should come spend more time alone with Simmons.

* * *

"Skye? Fuc—that's really you. You're really you."

'Brilliant deduction, Watson' is the first phrase that comes to mind. She's heard Fitz and Simmons use it before amongst themselves right before launching into a debate about which one of them is Sherlock and which is Watson. They never can agree but it's always entertaining to watch them try to outmaneuver the other with their arguments.

"The hell are you doing, dumbass?" Skye has difficulty keeping the bitterness from rolling off of her tongue with her words. Speaking to him is breaking a thousand different protocols. And sending him a message after finding out how he's linked to a missing SHIELD asset? That makes her current sin almost akin to child's play. Maybe some dregs of loyalty have been washed up from a place she's certain she didn't know was still part of her. Whatever is causing her to meet him here and now in this room? It's nothing good. There's nothing positive that's going to come from this but she continues down this path of damnation anyway.

Miles Lydon—she wonders if something went wrong with the Brodys for him to still have that surname because having a proper name of her own has always been such a part of her dream that she can't imagine being adopted and not changing it—broadens his grin. He takes a step forward, eyes twinkling in a way that's all too familiar.

"What happened to you, Skye?" He's looking her up and down like he can't believe that she's real. It begs the question of if he gave thought to her after Quinn took her in. "Never heard from you after you were placed with that one family. I asked. Wanted to make sure you were okay. I even tried to track you down after I went back to St. Agnes. It's like you never existed."

Back to St. Agnes. Guess he hadn't been a good fit after all. They've had that phrase used countless times in their combined pasts. Knowing that the Brodys hadn't adopted him doesn't make her feel better.

"Did you hack SHIELD?" She already knows the answer but his hands are cupping her face and he's brushing hair out from in front of her eyes. Skye ducks out of his grasp to look over his shoulder. She can't see through doors but it makes her feel more secure to not see anyone there regardless. "Are you sure they didn't follow you?"

"Do _you_ work for SHIELD?" Miles sounds incredulous. He's still so buzzing with excited energy. It makes her think of all of their time spent together as kids. Reflexively, she swats his hand away when he comes to touch her cheek again. He looks delighted.

The affirmative for working for guys in suits sticks in the back of her throat.

"This is serious!" Skye punches his arm. Hell, he's as infuriating as he's ever been. More than a decade apart has done nothing to change him at his core. She has to admit that it's easy to fall back into long unused habits in his presence. "I don't—Okay, I'm a consultant but that's so not that the point and you should be on your knees praising me for saving your sorry ass from getting busted."

"_Agent_ Skye, is it?" His deepened voice is mocking her and they both know it. It's a familiar tease from a lifetime ago that she can't let slip through her fingers like she should. She does nothing to insist upon the severity of the situation. Not just yet.

"Never thought you'd be one of those types to turn federal." His words aren't complimentary but she never expects him to be kind about the government. He doesn't know that Ward gives into her insistences that he announce every time she sinks his battleship; that Fitz brings her mugs of tea on his own when she has nightmares; that Simmons has begun playing with her hair when they watch Doctor Who together; that Coulson talks to her about old spy gadgets and his beloved Lola; that May almost smiled at her the last time she came into the cockpit and has taken to slowly showing her what the controls do. Of all of these things he's ignorant. He doesn't understand that the beastly government he's making fun of her for working with is really just made up of people. Normal, kind people.

People whom she increasingly, frighteningly, hopes like her.

Miles has had the luxury of remaining unchanged in his soul with the fabric of his being having been frayed but not shredded.

* * *

They're talking on the couch when she leans over and kisses him. There's no whimsical fluttering or fairy tale magic. What she feels for the physical contact itself is nothing.

But she hopes—prays—that he takes the bait being offered to him. The empty pressure of her lips lingering against his begs him to believe that she too is the same as she once was. Her heart is as naive and playful as it had been when they were children running through the grass. There are no splintered edges waiting to rip at the flesh of anyone daring to come close. She is as she always has been and she silently pleads for him to believe it on the off-chance that if he does it might be able to be true.

Skye doesn't know when May arrives but like a ghost she's at their shoulders before they fully understand what is happening. Her mouth falls open and fumbled excuses that she doesn't deserve to be subjected to pour out.

May doesn't entertain them. There's no expression on her face at all.

It's worse than outright anger.

* * *

Why does she have attachments to men with arguably sinister secrets?

Miles tries to sweet talk his way into staying in her good graces.

She refuses to look at him.

* * *

Ward takes her into the Centipede Project compound.

This is where she ends up freezing in the hallway as Debbie comes running down the hall towards them and immediately throws her hands into the air in surrender. Her eyes move from Ward's gun to Skye's face.

Skye feels like the air has been punched from her lungs. Debbie gazes at her with slightly parted lips and an expression that makes her think of Fitz with one of his fascinating gadgets.

The next heartbeat has Debbie screaming. There's a gaping, flaming hole in her chest that Skye can see right through. Ward drags her away but the damage is done. He definitely noticed the way they were looking at each other. He'd seen the recognition on both of their faces.

She knows she should have said something before. Long before.

It's too little too late but she finally gives her limited information to Coulson at day's end.

* * *

The technology blocking bracelet gleams under the dimmed plane lights illuminating her path to the cockpit. Knowing that she's dragging her feet on her way to her favorite place on the Bus causes a wrenching ache she doesn't know how to ease. Every second in her bunk feels too sluggish. She's not sure how to make the feeling go away. Generally she would put her extra energy into playing games, trolling the internet or spending time with Fitz and Simmons. These options are not available to her.

Not for today. She doesn't blame them in the slightest. This is her fault, she knows, no matter how much she wishes she could pawn the guilt off onto someone else. They have taken her into their lives and onto their plane as one of their own. She's rejected them before, more than once. She's taken time with her need to feel out each person she interacts with. A lot of time. It's not a process she's capable of regretting but her familiarity with the team still feels fledgling and now that she's made everything tense she doesn't know how to fix it.

She raises her fist, freezes, and ends up just resting her knuckles against the cold surface of the door. She can't bring herself to knock just yet. Nothing is stopping her from turning tail to hurry back to her bed where she can curl safely under her sheets. It's a lonely place right now but she knows what to expect from her own bunk: silence and solitude. There's nothing wrong with those things. There's potentially plenty of time to read through any of the books she has stacked away in a flat box beneath her bed. Word after word, page after page she could immerse herself in a whole other world to hide from the one she's so royally fucked up.

Skye knocks. Maybe she'll read another time.

May doesn't answer. That's normal.

What isn't normal is the frigid atmosphere within the cockpit itself. May doesn't turn to acknowledge her even in a small way. Skye feels invisible. She wildly wants to do something, anything just about, to engage May; goading her into anger would be preferable to simmering in her betrayal. The mature part of her not plagued by the fear of going back to square one knows that it'd be a stupid move to say anything trying to excuse herself. Even if she wanted to she's not sure she could paint a convincing enough lie for herself. These people on this plane deserve far better than a half-assed attempt at explaining herself.

She's not welcome in the cockpit. She knows that. Rocking back on her heels briefly, Skye hovers in the doorway just long enough to muster the courage to say what she actually feels.

"I'm sorry." The words sink into the tense air. "It won't—No more lies."

This promise steals security away from her but she won't back down from it. No lies. She can make up for these crimes because she can put a name to the quiet painful throb in her chest now that she's here with May. Nodding resolutely, Skye repeats herself softly, "I'm so sorry."

And she is. That ache in her heart is a blossoming desire that won't be ignored for too much longer. Soon, she knows, she's going to want this slowly building surrogate family. She's going to want it bad.


	6. Chapter 6

Simmons falls out of the plane and as she plummets so too does Skye's heart. The arm that catches her around the shoulders when she tries to rush down the small spiral ladder to the cargo bay makes her think of having the wind knocked out of her. That's what it feels like. Fitz, standing there against the rushing air whipping by and snapping his attention over to them when he hears her pushing against May, is seared into her memory. Fitz without Simmons. They're so deeply a piece of the other in a loving, intimate way that Skye can only dream of having with another person. She can't imagine the two being away from each other for a day never mind a lifetime.

She shakes the thought away.

"There is nothing that you can do. _Skye_. Calm. Down." May grips her more firmly when she twists around to shout at her. Every word of anger chokes in her throat when she meets May's eyes. The fingertips digging into her arms slacken when she stops fighting. She manages to take in a breath enough to understand what's changed in her surroundings. No more howling wind. Cargo bay ramp is closed. Coulson is no longer with them but she's not sure when he left.

May soon takes her own leave with the sharp instruction her not to do anything rash and a thrown comment in Fitz's direction to get eyes on the water below them. She doesn't care how, just get it done. While Fitz rushes around the lab doing something or other, Skye is just left to sit on her hands and behave herself like a good girl. There's nothing she can do to help. The truth of that burns her throat when she swallows, gazing at ashen-faced Fitz as he mutters under his breath to himself.

Ward and Simmons might both be dead.

She tries to drown the anxious pains of uselessness by fidgeting and pacing absently around the briefing room. She just can't take another moment of watching Fitz or staring at the cargo bay door as though their missing teammates will magically reappear at any second. Maybe if she just doesn't sit still then she can burn off the nervous energy threatening to boil over.

Ward hasn't forgiven her for what happened with Miles yet or for withholding information about Debbie but, she picks at her cuticles absently as she stares down at the blank table in the briefing room, they've made progress today worrying about Simmons. There are a endless list of other things she would have preferred to reconnect to him over. Not that she's been daydreaming about it or anything but the thought of a Doctor Who marathon with May and Ward and Simmons and everyone else has been cropping up in her imagination during her time in the doghouse.

Splaying out her hands, she presses her palms roughly against her eyes as though it'll force her eyes to stop welling with tears. During her childhood she remembers having nightmares after being sent away from the Brodys. Every morning of homemade breakfasts and afternoon of getting help with homework that bored her had just increased her frantic desire to be a permanent part of their family. Mrs. Brody always kissed her forehead and brushed back her hair before bed. Mr. Brody gladly played hide and seek with both her and Miles. He even took time out of his day to teach her things like how to ride a bike or how to properly throw a football. When they sent her out of the door with her social worker, her heart had shattered.

That intense loss rushes back every now. This, right now, feels very much similar to that loss. She has to set her jaw, press harder against her eyes. No, she thinks harshly as she rises to her feet, there's nothing to say that they might not still be alive. Even with the fall. Ward had a parachute in hand according to Fitz. He could've gotten it on. Ward, Simmons. It's possible. She's not going to sit here feeling sorry for her own stupid past when she doesn't even know what's going on.

She goes to Coulson's office. If there's anyone who will have the exact details of what's going on, it'll be AC. She's has to double check the clock when it tells her just how little time has passed. With the seconds weighing on her like minutes it's no surprise that it feels like she's been pacing around for much longer than she has. He's busy speaking in a raised voice to a woman she doesn't recognize. Skye braces her hand against the door frame, wetting her dry lips.

"No, what _you _aren't understanding is that I need my people out of the water. _Now._"

Skye just has to listen, heart pounding, to quiet her fear. They're in the water. It's not a good place to be. But they're _alive_. Treading water and alive. A strangled sob erupts from her before she can clap her hand over her mouth. Just as Coulson turns to look, frowning, at her she stumbles over her feet in her rush to back out of the room. The heaviness of her panic lifts slowly off of her shoulders enough for her to at least be able to wait a few minutes outside of his door without feeling like she's losing her mind.

Coulson emerges, worn and irritated, but he tells her exactly what she hopes to hear: that they're alive. They're alive but he apparently is at the end of his rope just trying to negotiate getting them out of the ocean with the Moroccan division. With a furrowed brow and grumbled words, he turns again to go right back into his office to continue talks. She doesn't envy him in the slightest. It's only moment before she hears his raised voice yet again.

But they're alive. Ward is alive. Simmons hasn't gone nuclear from the Chitauri virus. She's _alive._ But believing without seeing for herself isn't something that she's willing to take a chance on. It demands a certain faith that she's never been prone to accepting, not even when the nuns of St. Agnes tried to impress the importance of it upon her and the other kids. Faith has never been a strong suit.

"Hello, Skye." The relief is cemented with two small words after what feels like a lifetime of waiting. Her feet refuse to move from where they're rooted to the floor. Then all at once she's rushing over to fling her arms around Simmons's neck.

"Don't… Don't you dare…" She murmurs hoarsely, shakily taking a breath. Don't you dare jump out of the plane again? Don't you dare do that again? Don't you dare die? Don't, don't, don't. The words repeat in her mind but she's not certain just what she's asking. Simmons just wraps her arms around her tighter and lets her speak without demanding clarification. There she is having just faced death and Skye is the one who's upset. Simmons just lets her be upset. "Just… don't."

* * *

Simmons is the one who screams in the middle of the night. When she wakes and pushes open her door, pale and sweaty, Skye is standing right outside her bunk door with Fitz and a steaming mug of tea. Fitz gives her his shoulder to bury her face against, his arms to wrap herself in. He's a pillar of comfort for her to lean on until she insists that he go back to bed. His eyelids are drooping but they all know that he'd do anything for Simmons.

Fitz only returns to his bunk reluctantly.

"Do you want to watch Doctor Who?" Skye blurts out. Embarrassed, she self-consciously scratches at the back of her neck.

"Yes." Simmons curls up in the corner of the sofa, tucking her legs underneath her body. Skye hovers indecisively between her bunk door and the sofa. She curiously watches Skye when she doesn't immediately move to join her. She pats the cushion next to her. "Come sit with me?"

"Uh, yeah, right. Duh." Skye rubs awkwardly at her cheeks to try to fend off the rising heat of embarrassment. She drops down on the center cushion rather than going to the opposite end of the sofa. This whole experience has taught her something she hadn't fully realized before. As far off as she thought it was, as much time as she thought she still had to get herself together, it turns out that she's already in this way too deep. She wants these people to stay in her life.

She pulls a blanket over both herself and Simmons, shifting a little closer.

* * *

Skye isn't sure how this starts off.

At first she's scowling in outrage at the sheer audacity of The Doctor's final goodbye to Rose Tyler and then one offhanded comment about how she's never actually been to a beach leads to Simmons regarding her with those brown eyes of hers. Suddenly she feels nervous again. Skye runs her fingers through her hair, messing with it loosely.

"Where did you go when you were a kid then?" Simmons is gentle in her tone.

Skye realizes that they're in uncharted conversational territory. She flexes her fingers out, stares down at her nails. When she was at the orphanage it wasn't like they were granted a bunch of vacations to bond with the nuns or anything like that. They'd have lessons in religion, time to pray, confessionals that they were prodded to do. It was nothing like the families she'd see on television. Fictional kids groaning about their fictional parents even as they were brought on vacations to the beach or the mountains or any other number of beautiful places with breathtaking scenery.

She shrugs. "Nowhere? I mean, I went to the zoo." One time. She'd gone to the zoo exactly one time with the Brodys.

"What's your favorite animal?" Skye would laugh the question off if Simmons didn't look so earnestly interested in what she had to say. Her wonder was so genuine that the shrug she wanted to give in response never arose.

"There was this one." Skye smiles slightly at the memory, shifts her gaze back down to her hands. "A golden eagle. One of the keepers said that he'd been injured and couldn't be returned back to the wild. I always thought—he looked so trapped. There he was, like, this big, badass bird and I thought he looked stuck. I think he'd have rather been flying in the open sky. But his keeper just had this big glove on and he perched there and he was… beautiful."

The big bird of prey with all of the potential in the world to fly away except for the fact that he simply couldn't. He wasn't capable of flying such long distances anymore. She couldn't remember just what his injuries were specifically but it'd been enough to keep him captive in a body formerly capable of doing so much. He'd gone from free to trapped in a moment of bad luck. Skye, having never felt free in her life, had spent a lot of time just hanging out by him.

Now she feels like a moron for such a long answer. Clearing her throat, she tries to redirect the conversation. "What about you? Any special animals have a place in your heart?"

"I've always found snakes to be of particular fascination. Their venoms can be incredibly complex and they have an entire range of different adaptations depending on their environments and what they feed on not to mention that there are so many that are just quite striking like the Atheris viper which you might even think has feathers but, no, its scales are just bristled enough that they _look_ like feathers which, of course, is why is has the colloquial name of 'feathered tree viper' and so—" Skye must be doing something with her face that tells Simmons that she's amused because she quickly cuts off her tangents to sheepishly clear her throat and conclude with, "Yes, uhm, snakes. Snakes are lovely."

"You can keep talking about snakes if you want. It's interesting to listen to you." Skye says quickly. While this is true it's also an attempt, a poor one, to avoid talking about herself. She's not even sure why she doesn't want to talk about herself. Maybe it's because it's just not something she's accustomed to doing.

"I'm sure that I would have you here all night should you allow me to do that." Nope, that smile says that she knows exactly what Skye is doing now. "What's your favorite food?"

At least the questions are still innocent enough. There's nothing probing too deeply into her life before being a part of the team. They've been patient with her about this, she knows. God knows there's nothing that's really stopped them from demanding answers about it from her than their own kindness. Skye sits back and shifts more in her seat to more fully face Simmons.

"Chicken's pretty awesome, I guess. Lots of ways to eat it." Skye shrugs. It sounds a lot more boring when she says it out loud. Simmons asks her more questions. Favorite color? Favorite book? Favorite movie? They're simple enough though she falters over the movie one before deciding on 101 Dalmatians with a sheepish grin. It was her favorite as a kid. Lots of puppies ending up in a great big family with loving parents.

She gives answers the best that she can. In return, Simmons gives her own. They're small personal scraps of information but Skye's fascinated by them all the same. She wonders if she can get back on May's good side then would she answer inane questions like this too or just silently brush her off? She likes to think that maybe she can do something to earn back her trust, to be able to get answers for dumb questions like this.

"Have you always watched Doctor Who?" Skye leans against the back of the sofa and braces her elbow against it so that she can rest her chin against her palm. This is nice. Inarguably, just being able to sit here and talk is sort of incredible. They're undisturbed and relaxed. These aren't exactly easy things to come by considering there are only so many places that someone can go to have space to themselves. The living area at odd hours with Doctor Who faintly running in the background is an atmosphere she could gladly get used to. Sure they've watched it together before but generally they stick to regular hours and turn in to sleep before the time gets unreasonable. Simmons shakes her head, a fond smile curling her lips.

"No, no. When I was little, my Gran used to put on Classic Who episodes when I stayed with her. I was a rather talkative child and I'm afraid I never did much like bedtime so Gran would would put in one of her tapes and let me watch until I was absolutely knackered. I always felt like such a grown-up being allowed to stay up and watch. She was very clever, you see. She always gave me a cup of hot chamomile tea and I'd usually be all drowsy by the episode's end as it were. So, really, I never stayed up as late as I thought I would." Simmons covers her mouth to stifle a faint yawn.

Skye smirks teasingly. "I think it's about bedtime for you if the yawning is any indication."

Simmons rolls her eyes.

* * *

By the time it rolls around that they unavoidably have to get to sleep if they don't want to totally screw themselves over for the coming day and whatever work it's bound to bring, Skye wraps her arms around her friend's neck to hold her tightly. She chuckles and squeezes her gently in return. Maybe it's the knowledge that they understand the terror of these nightmares but just being together is reassuring.

"Goodnight, Skye." Simmons's arms fall away.

"Night, Jemma." If she's surprised to hear her first name used, she doesn't show it. Instead, her smile is just a bit brighter.

* * *

There's no audible indication of nightmares but Skye still finds herself tossing in bed uncomfortably. Fitz and Ward had a hard mission. Jemma shot Agent Sitwell in the chest with an ICER. Coulson caught her, Skye, hacking into secure systems.

It's been a busy day.

When she finally throws the blankets off of her, hops up off of her bed and slips out of her bunk, she finds Jemma curled up on the sofa. She has a quilt tugged up to her chest, her eyes on Fitz's door. Skye doesn't say anything. She goes to make mugs of tea for the both of them. She hears the sound of the television buzzing to life and smiles.

* * *

Skye says things that she looks back on and isn't proud of. In the heat of the moment, fueled by a sense of outrage and injustice, she snaps at May for the way she's treated Hannah. Shooting her back at her house, failing to show the same amount of sympathy that Skye herself shows. It crosses her as callous and cold when all that they've found about Hannah is that she's scared. The woman has a heart of pure kindness that Skye is almost envious of yet thankful she doesn't have to the same extent.

But Skye hadn't been the one to save Hannah from the guy who haunted her. May had.

"I'm sorry." She rushes out with the words. May flicks a switch above her head but doesn't respond. "I didn't think—I just didn't think. I'm sorry."

May doesn't say anything when Skye hesitantly slides into the co-pilot's seat. She also doesn't give her the cold shoulder either. It's not much but it's a start. It's comforting to be able to settle back and look out at the sky laid out before them. The sun's just starting to rise, leaving a broad warm stain of oranges over the brightening clouds.

It's a new day. There are changes she can make here. This is a world she has a place in now but isn't really prepared to deal with. May, she understands, did what was necessary and acted to the best of her ability. Sometimes it doesn't ring as the kindest way of going about business but it works. May has tenfold more experience with all of this. What Skye needs to do, really, is trust in her as much as her team has put trust in her. She twists her fingers in her lap.

"May…" Skye clears her throat. "I want to be… I wanna be a part of this. All of this. A part of S.H.I.E.L.D., I mean. I don't want to just be a consultant. I want this. To be an agent. Like you or Coulson. Ward and Jemma and Fitz. I want to be an agent like all of you are."

When she looks sideways to assess May's reaction, she thinks that there's a little hint of a smile. It's bolstering to her security in where they stand.

Her awe of May is only increased time and again as they begin proper training rather than sticking to her general off-handed schedule of occasionally attempting to learn basic hand-to-hand from Ward down in the cargo bay. Their lessons have been fun but since Ward doesn't think she should be in the field anymore than Fitz or Jemma should be, it's not quite as comprehensive as she'd have liked. He's a good man but he's not the one that she wants to learn from.

With May as her official supervising officer, however, that all changes. Skye knows May's birthday from her file and, even though they're almost three decades apart in age, when she watches May fight she can only hope to one day be that quick on her feet. May moves with more grace and precision than Skye can't muster to simply walk in a straight line across the room. And speed. God, is that woman fast.

Every few seconds during that first session, May has her flat on her back on the mat. She'll feel so pleased about the slightest hint of progress just to end up with the wind knocked out of her from blows she neither has the instincts or reflexes to combat. When she goes to punch, she's heavy handed and swings wide out from her body. So May tells her, anyway. And she must be right considering the amount of times that she acts before Skye can complete a full motion. Her fist will be aiming for May's face only for her just suddenly not to be there before the movement is even finished.

Thankfully, the physical parts are not the only things she's training in. There's more to being an Agent than just being able to throw a good punch. She needs to be able to think tactically, quickly, if she wants to be an effective field agent. She needs to be able to take a breath and act without falling back into emotional responses that might not only endanger herself but others as well. Skye knows she has a rash streak. Okay, it's sort of just a personality trait that rears its head whenever she wants to snap a response back without thinking about it.

It's that same rash streak coupled with a heavy ache of betrayal that makes her blurt out, "Why the hell would you bother wasting your time with me if you just think I'm useless?" when they're standing before Agent Hand. May, her own damn supervising officer, is the one who seals her fate in being kicked off of the team. There's not a single word of defense on her behalf when Hand dismisses her as just a 'consultant.' Coulson has been taken and Hand is ridding the Bus of what she clearly considers dead weight.

Ward speaks up for her. It doesn't matter. She distinctly finds herself thinking about how she's admired May's ability to keep such a neutral expression in the face of highly stressful situations. Right now, she's seething about it. It's so much easier to be angry than to dwell on the sharp pain of rejection. I thought that you trusted in my ability to do this, she wants to say, I thought that I mattered. Thinking that maybe they aren't as much family, that she's idealized her relationships with the team, as she's made them out to be in her mind. It has the sort of crushing potential that makes her glance over warily at Jemma when she approaches as Ward escorts her to the cargo ramp to be picked up for debriefing.

Jemma holds out a brown bag.

"You… made me a sandwich?" Skye raises her eyebrows skeptically.

"Yes." Jemma says in that strangely forced voice she uses when she's trying to lie. "It is that."

Fitz and Jemma give her the satellite phone. Ward gives her the time gap to leave before agents swoop in to take her away. But later, when she finally has reason to put that phone to use, it's May who takes over the conversation. The moment that she hears May's voice, she freezes and wonders if she needs to hang up. May gives her something that the others aren't quite able to no matter how well-intentioned they are.

"What've you found?" It's one expectant question that lets her know that May has been waiting for this call. She knew that Skye wouldn't stop until she found a route back to Coulson to get him back. May gives her her clear indication of having trusted in her ability. May has, for lack of a better word, faith in her.

* * *

"You don't have to believe the worst of me." Is all that May says later when Coulson is safely home.

Skye flushes with the shameful echo of her earlier accusation. May's trust in her matters more than it probably should.

* * *

"You and Fitz were pretty big deals at the academy, huh? Popular kids on campus and everything." Skye twists her warm mug in her lap, staring at the credits rolling across the television screen. Her nails clink gently against the ceramic. Her focus isn't what it should be right another day her attention would be solely devoted to listening to Jemma's answer to her question. Every word would be considered carefully so that she could formulate follow-ups, comments, anything else that might come to might; anything that might make those brown eyes gleam in delight and her lips quirk into a smile.

Today is different. Jemma's smiling and talking. Skye's thoughts, wild and roaming, are entrapped by Coulson's revelations of the day. Pieces of information Ian had never given her are mixing wildly with stories she remembers haunting her childhood in her isolated room. Her imagination has always painted vivid images of swollen corpses strewn around the ground with mud forming in the dry dust of the earth from mixing with the blood. Men, women, children, animals. Just an endless list of formerly living souls cast aside because of her own existence. From her birth, Ian had said, they were damned to the reality of death.

Where she hadn't been sure how she ended up in the United States to begin with after being born in some Chinese village—truthfully, she's never had the courage to ask for fear of more tales of bloodshed in her name—Coulson had apparently found out some interesting information on that very topic. She hadn't asked but Coulson's been looking into reports on 0-8-4's in the archives since she first told him what she was. Suspicious dead ends had led to other leads which led to him and May taking off on their fact finding venture while Skye accompanied everyone else to solve a mystery at the Academy.

S.H.I.E.L.D. has been protecting her by moving her around. S.H.I.E.L.D. has been there in her life like a ghost she's never noticed from the very beginning when Agent Linda Avery and her team retrieved her from the Hunan province all of those years ago. Where she'd once believed that families never kept her around because she was naturally unloveable and devoid of worth, she's learned that this isn't true. She's been shifted around over and over because of Agent Avery. It's all been to protect her. None of those families had a choice in giving her up. The Brodys hadn't had a choice. She has to wonder if any families seriously considered adopting her before she had to be whisked away.

Being a human 0-8-4 isn't common. She has never felt that more prominently than she does right now. For all she knows, human 0-8-4s have been unheard of until she popped up. She knows now that it's information that she shouldn't display freely to anyone who's curious about her. Whatever Ian and his scientists believed she would eventually be able to do, it probably hadn't been in her best interest. No, she pushes the thought away firmly, she knows that it can't have been for her best interest.

As much as she still finds herself aching to believe that Ian had loved her on some level it gets more and more difficult to believe the longer that she's with the team on the Bus. Even now, testing out the thought that he loves her feels forced. In the years she had been with him and going along with his every test and torture—she doesn't think she'll ever enjoy messing with water but maybe she can try—he'd forever returned her to that little room. She'd aged in the same four walls for years yet realized that she'd only actually begun to grow once Coulson brought her on as a consultant. The team helped to shape her. They gave the sort of support that Ian never had.

"…alright?" Jemma's voice is laced with worry enough to bring her out of her wandering thoughts. Skye grimaces. Has she just been blankly staring this whole time? She's not sure how long Jemma's been talking as it is.

"I'm fine, real…ly." Skye guiltily trails off because Jemma looks even more concerned now. Placing her mug on the side table, and also noting just how much it's cooled down in her hands, she adjusts herself so that she can more properly face Jemma. Her heart pulses heavily in her chest, drumming against her skin as it threatens to burst out of her body completely. She doesn't talk about herself very much but right now she needs to. There are things that she needs to say out loud. Though she's not sure if she's looking for a discussion or just someone to listen she knows that Jemma will be able to slip into either role.

"Okay, so… Okay, I just need to say something. Not say but, umm, talk about something. And if you could just… Please don't… Just listen and… I just need to talk, I guess. Or whatever." Skye drops her gaze quickly, fidgeting. It's risky, isn't it? Talking about this is potentially dangerous. Not everyone is going to be as discreet or protective about this aspect of who she is as Coulson. She's had a lifetime of experience to know just what the potential consequences could be. With doubt creeping in, Skye moves to wipe her increasingly clammy palms against her legs. Jemma's hand cautiously slides over the top of Skye's.

"Whatever you need." Jemma's gentle and earnest. She squeezes briefly. It's the only assurance that she needs to steel her resolve.

"We've never… Right, so we've never talked about when you found me. I mean, when all of you showed up and I was in that room in Ian's compound. And, I guess—I was in an orphanage before I was there. Foster kid, you know?" The words are heavy and her tongue curls around them uncomfortably. It's even embarrassing to bring up that memory when it seems so far away now. Every syllable falling from her lips feels like it rips away protective shields for her to hide behind. "And then there was Ian. And he took me in. Sort of."

There are questions boiling up but Jemma doesn't voice them. Gratitude washes over Skye when she glances up to see her biting her lower lip. For such a curious woman it must be maddening to want so much but to keep a grip on herself in order to make sure that Skye gets exactly what she needs. Skye toys with Jemma's fingers, manipulates them with her own to keep herself from otherwise fidgeting.

"I spent like ten minutes or whatever in his house and then… Next thing I knew was that room. I was eleven and that stupid room? That was my everything. When I told you that I've never been to the beach it was, uh, it was because I was there. I just stayed in that room. I don't even know when it became the most normal thing in the world to me but at some point it did. It wasn't…" She's not sure what word she's searching for. "It wasn't ideal, I guess. But it was the closest thing I had."

Skye drags her nails absently down along Jemma's knuckles. The little jump she feels under her fingers at the sensation is comforting. It reaffirms that her friend is solid and alive and listening. It's not like she has any reason to believe any of those things to be otherwise but there are moments where she fears that maybe this whole experience is a dream. A twisted, prolonged psychological test to examine how her brain functions. It's a wild notion that rings of childishness but she can never quite shake it.

"Anyway, Ian wanted to run tests. He had all of these scientists and soldiers around. The whole place was just to study me." She pauses, shrugging. "That's what he said did a lot of tests… They did things to try to get a rise of out me. You've, umm… Those scars, you've seen. They also had a thing for… They seemed to think simulating drowning would help make me reach my full potential. It never did but that didn't stop anyone. They kept trying. I didn't fight it either. I just eventually kinda thought that, you know, if Ian was ordering it then there had to be a—whatever."

"But _why_?" Jemma's clearly distressed. In fact, she sounds so upset that Skye raises her head in immediate alarm. Her eyes are bright with moisture and some odd mix of outrage with horror strains her facial features. Her tremulous voice pitches higher when she continues in a rush. "Why the bloody hell would anyone—You were just a child! No one should—I can't believe anyone could be that—what possible reason could anyone have for _torturing _a child?"

Skye pauses, tightening her grip on Jemma's hand, and looks her in the eye uncertainly. There it is. There's the question.

"Because." Skye cleared her throat roughly. "I'm an 0-8-4. That was why he took me in the first place."

Had it been a lighter topic, she might've smiled at the look on Jemma's face.


End file.
